


hand on your heart

by zombiesolace



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art School, Chatting & Messaging, Meet-Cute, Multi, Polyamory, minor blood and injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 18:10:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14384208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiesolace/pseuds/zombiesolace
Summary: Three struggling art students and a whole lotta love.





	hand on your heart

Chris’s three hours deep into a printmaking session when he cuts himself. He slices a long stinging line up his palm which he immediately starts trying to shake out. The blood splatter gets all over his work and he can feel tears threatening to spill from him too. He loves the Fine Arts degree he’s doing, but there’s no way he’d ever maim himself doing his other degree. No tech, neither game or media, would hurt him like this.

There’s no use mopping at his work, it’s drenched. He’s lowkey pissed because the splashes of pooling blood look kinda good in a purely aesthetic sense, but this was supposed to be a black and white piece. There’s no way he could bullshit that the red “paint” was a design choice.

Chris looks around for a rag to staunch the wound, but he’s covered every available surface in ink and blood. He’s not quite desperate enough to attempt clean up on an open wound with a dirty rag.

His eyes keep straying to his work. It was just a practise piece, one of the four exercise prints he has to churn out every week and it's fucking ruined. He doesn’t have time to waste. His workload is far too full-on for that.

The blood leaking from his hand is slowing from the pressure he has on it, but barely. He should be worrying about the self-care everyone around here spouts about—art is fucking taxing!! take fucking care of yourself!!—but he’s a close shave away from continuing one-handed right now.

“Dude,” he hears from behind him, “you look like you need a hand.”

“Is that a fucking pun?” Chris asks somewhat hysterically. It's funny as hell so he’s half laughing, but he’s too wound up at the moment to appreciate the joke being on him.

A girl steps into his space and she’s clearly inspecting him and his work. It takes her a few moments before her eyes rest firmly on him, measuring.

She flips open her shoulder bag and pulls out a first-aid kit.

“Oh my gosh!” Chris says. “Thank you so much.” Is this some kind of sign? What do good samaritans symbolise? Charity, wellness, that Chris should cut himself some slack??

She shrugs as she steps towards him, unzipping the kit and placing it on the desk. “I have no idea how to use half this shit.”

Chris snorts and he starts rummaging through its contents. He knows how to use  _more_ than half of this shit. He’s from Cali, he grew up boarding on both skates and the surf. “Like I admire the forethought of carrying around a first-aid kit, but what’s the use if you can’t use it?” He has his wound disinfected and bound in moments.

The girl smirks as she looks over his handiwork. “I find if you give jobs to people when they’re in a crisis they calm the fuck down.”

Chris—who no longer feels like crying and is enjoying speaking to another human being for the first time this week—can more than appreciate the smarts behind that. “Huh,” he says. “You caught that I was a couple seconds from crying then?”

The girl takes back her first-aid kit and neatly packs it away. There’s a slight smile on her face, kind of a smirk but like an empathetic one. She doesn’t show any inclination to leave, her eyes looking over his art once more. She’s covered in paint-splatters from head to toe.

“I feel like we should be cataloging our tears, y’know?” Chris says. “I mean like there’s no way all the famous artists didn’t cry in frustration when creating their masterpieces. What’s the difference between us and them?”

She leans easily against his work bench. She’s all comfortable and lionine, despite the ink everywhere and _particularly_ because of the blood. The rough edges of the desk from someone’s previous art project are no doubt cutting into her side, but she doesn't move. She’s so much shorter than him that he’s got to look down at her.

“We do have the luxury of Twitter to keep our supposed entourage updated,” he says. She tilts her head in thought and her long fringe sweeps across her face. She’s like, not talking? But definitely interested in what he’s saying so he keeps going. “Though my twitter is full of my most devastating mistakes and then ‘ironic captions’ because, if I’m going to fail, at least I can make people laugh while I do so. I don’t feel so shitty then.”

“I feel that,” she says, looking over his latest disaster with great interest.

Chris laughs, mostly because that just eased the hell out of his anxiety. People have never had any problem telling him they think he talks too much! Because they're assholes obviously. So he’s never not aware of it, but he was really feeling it there with her not replying.  

Chris takes a more objective look at his work. It's clearly ruined for this project and—he’s not going to think about that right now. It’s Wednesday, he still has enough time to complete the other two he has to do this week. Probably if he eats while he works, but that’s nothing new.

“Do you know of Vincent Castiglia?” she says, her finger tracing the air over the blood splatter on his print. “I’m getting strong _The Sleep_ vibes from this.”

“Cool,” he says. “I have no idea who or what that is, I’ll look him up.”

She clears her throat slightly. “Just vibes, not like, any actual resemblance.”

“Well I wanted it to be an emotional piece, so it's nice to know it has a vibe.” He sighs, pushing it aside. “Shame it's a vibe that I can’t get a grade for now.”

“How about some cash instead?” she says.

Chris does a double take at that. “I’m sorry?”

She raises her eyebrows at him. Her face is vaguely judgy, but she can’t seem to make eye-contact so he lets it slide. “I like your vibe.”

Chris looks back and forth between his work and this girl, who he’s pretty sure he’s never seen around before—how _strange_. “Its covered in my blood.”

She smirks. “Very punk.”

Chris isn’t sure how he feels about someone having his blood. Not for any concrete reason, but he’s a millennial who grew up watching forensics shows. It's not like any good scenarios where someone makes something out of someone else’s blood made it to air. No, he only ever saw the ‘frame you for murder’ kind. Even beyond that vague: … _i’m good_ feel, it’s unfinished work. There’s a strong emotional attachment coming from his perfectionist streak and it’s lowkey screaming.

“Ah,” she says awkwardly when he doesn’t respond, stilted like she’s finding the right words, “it's just kind of inspiring y’know?”

“...no,” Chris says. All he sees is a shitty, unfinished, ruined piece of printmaking.

She raises one shoulder in a shrug, it's the arm she’s leaning on the work bench with so it sort of dislodges her. She’s really sticking it in standing against that uncomfortable desk. “Not like in any fleshed-out sense. In a ‘sweat, blood, and tears go into our art’ but _literally_ kind of sense. Or: ‘art is a statement in this ideology-driven world and it's our lifeblood that creates how we interact with this world and tailors the statement in turn’ kind of sense. Just like, it's a vibe, an inspiring vibe, y’know?”

If Chris knew her better he’d say she was flustered, but he doesn’t so he takes her relaxed posture and how her eyes are fixed over his shoulder at face value.

“No,” he says again cheerily. “I don’t understand, but I’m hella flattered you find my work inspiring.” He’s feeling pretty inspired himself right now. She’s looking at the world in a certain light and Chris is starting to see it himself.

“You can have it,” he says, his mind tracking and cataloging all the supplies he has, “but you’ve gotta take it and leave because I’m coming up on a second wind and I don’t want to miss this.”

She lifts the print into the air demonstratively. “I’ll take this as the thanks you owe me for giving you first-aid.”

Chris laughs, momentarily distracted from organising his workspace, “I’m pretty sure I thanked you _and_ gave myself first-aid. I didn’t see much help happening here.”

“You think?” she says lightly. She’s hard to read, Chris has no idea if she’s insulted or not.

“I’m teasing,” he says. “I was about to go home and watch sad movies to let all these tears out. I’m thanking you, you’re my muse right now.”

“Oh,” she says, her face colouring. “I prefer Larissa.”

“I’m Chris,” he says, grinning broadly at her response. He holds his hand out. Larissa takes his left and uninjured hand with a smirk. Her shake is cool and firm and she has calluses on the joints of her fingers. Chris is like super interested in getting a closer look at them sometime. Or just holding her hand while they walk through a park. A park with sweet birdsong all around them.

Larissa gives him a lazy salute as she backs away. “I felt the muse in meeting you also.” She’s still pink in the face and Chris can feel his complexion going the same way. She spins on her heel and then she’s gone.

Chris fumbles for his phone with his injured hand, while setting up for a new print with the other.

Caitlin answers on the third ring. “ _Cait_ ,” he exclaims. “I just met the cutest fucking girl. Like punk art-hoe kind of cute, but also _authentic_ and _awkward_ like life can be.”

“Hi sweetie!” she says. “I also met a cute girl today! But more nerd-jock y’know?”

“That’s great! I can’t talk right now though,” Chris says, knocking half his paints onto the floor in his excitement. “I’m super inspired _._ ”

“Oh okay, baby,” Caitlin says with a laugh. “I’ll call you later.”

They say their I love you’s like they’re stacking homemade pancakes, haphazard and divine. Chris’s mind is ticking over with ideas and he’s off, blood pumping enthusiastically— exactly where it should be thank god.

 

* * *

 

Larissa knows how to shitpost. She knows how to photoshop her friend’s heads onto increasingly bizarre and abstract bodies. She knows how to use photoshop to write her friends’ notes in serial killer style with letters cut from online newspapers. She knows how to cut out an image and messily place it onto another. Larissa knows how to rotate text in MS Paint.

As she repeatedly hits ctrl-z to restart this week’s exercise for her basic Photoshop class, Larissa realises she doesn’t know _how to fucking use Photoshop_.

A big, _big_ , part of her wants to keep clicking undo until she erasures the whole document. She’s a traditional painter; a sculptor; a potter on occasion. She doesn’t know jack about Photoshop—the program or its possibilities—and while this is an introductory class, Larissa’s just not fucking getting it.

She saves her disappointingly meager progress and takes a walk. She leaves all her shit at the workbench and heads outside. She’ll take a brisk walk to clear her head and then dive straight back in. It's all in the textbook. All she’s gotta do is follow the instructions and she’ll have a complete picture. It's practically paint by numbers and Larissa is a fully-fledged artist.

Half an hour later, Larissa is no closer to completing the activity. The temptation to knock her head against the desk is strong. She’d do it too if she were alone. Unfortunately there’s a guy two computers down from her—a very pretty boy who's very easily cruising through his work on Photoshop.

He catches her looking and Larissa resists jerking her head away. She’s gotta look now, it feels like a challenge.

He gives her a slow smile and holy shit does he have the most fantastic face. She’s been seeing a lot of fantastic faces lately. “You good?” he says, his eyebrows raised.

Larissa raises one eyebrow in return. “Yep.”

He gives a slight laugh, glancing away and back. “You don’t need anything from me then? You just looking?”

Now, Larissa knows she could tell him she’s actually supremely bad at using Photoshop and that she’s dying and could he maybe save her life right now? She looks him up and down instead. He’s got the most gorgeous bone structure. She doesn’t know whether she’d rather paint him or sculpt him. She’d do him better justice with a paint brush, but to get her hands to the curves and angles of him—in the clay that is. Larissa isn’t this horny. She can get laid easily—she’s got friends who are happy to give and take the benefit. She just really, _really_ , doesn’t want to be thinking about Photoshop right now. Still—he’s handed her a cover so she looks him up and down slowly and says, “Yep, just looking.”

He gives a low laugh at that and turns back to his work.

Larissa is one part disappointed that her distraction is donzo and one part relieved that she isn’t blatantly flirting with a stranger anymore, because it's ultimately the same as talking to a stranger and that shit’s hard. She doesn’t have a way with words when it comes to new people; not like that guy in the second floor art room. Chris. She’d barely had to say a word, that had been—nice, warming even. She kinda hopes to see him around again soon. Plus the ‘approach with caution’ vibes she’d perfected work way better when she isn’t anxiously spitting words all over the place. Or asking to buy someone’s _blood what the fuck_.

“Hey,” she hears and finds the guy talking to her again. “I’m also just looking now and you look really familiar. Is that why you were looking?”

Larissa doesn’t bother taking a more detailed look at him. She’s sure she would have felt that niggling ‘there’s something to remember here’ feeling when she first looked otherwise. “No,” she says. “I don’t know you.”

She half-sets it up to see if he’ll go into fuckboy mode and say ‘you could get to know me’ or ‘we could change that’ but mostly it's habit. There’s something vaguely threatening about an outright dismissal.

“Keep looking even still,” he says with a wink and Larissa has to hold off her smile. That was cute if only because it's incredibly passive for a fuckboy line. “But I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

“Y’know,” Larissa says slowly, lifting a finger, “I think we might go to the same school.”

The guy lets out a bright laugh, swiveling on his chair slightly from the force of it. He seems to catch himself quickly, locking the movement down. He doesn’t look any less friendly, but definitely more contained. “Do you want me to fuck off?” he says. “I won’t bother you anymore.”

Larissa considers this. Honestly she wants _any excuse not to go back to work_ and there’s one perched happily two seats down from her. “You’re asking me if we know each other: is that a line?” she checks.

“Nooo,” he says adamantly. “For real, I recognise your face.”

Larissa’s pretty sure she’d remember a face as lovely as his, but shrugs anyway. She’s always down for a casual date either way. She pulls out her phone and keeps her eyes on the screen—cool and collected that’s her—as she says, “What’s your name then?”

He slides his chair in closer, knocking the chair between them clumsily into her legs. He braces an arm on the back of it and the other on the desk between them. She’d feel crowded in if he’d kept his intense gaze on her. He’s looking at her laptop instead. “Derek Nurse.”

Now _that_ does sound familiar. Larissa types it into facebook, finding his profile picture quickly. He’s wearing the green snapback in it right now. She clicks on the profile of one Derek Nurse and their mutual friend answers the conundrum. She turns the phone around to show Derek. “We’re both friends with Shitty.”

“Oh riiiight,” Derek says, leaning back in a lazy sprawl. “Right”—he says again ducking his head to look at the screen—“Larissa Duan, that makes us friends of a friend.”

Larissa makes a considering noise as she puts her phone away. She’s not opposed to that at all, but the noise is often read with negative connotations and sue her she’s curious. She recognises him now. Shitty often spoke—often speaks—of the Derek he went to school with. This boy has good rep.

Derek snorts. “How faithless of you. You know Shitty wouldn’t have anything less.”

She has to give him that. Shitty dreams of a world where everyone is wearing flower crowns and spinning in friendship circles. He smiles when she concedes with a tilt of her head. “What’s your major?” he asks, looking at her laptop screen curiously. “Graphic design?”

Larissa scoffs. The more time she spends on this class the more that becomes less apparent. “I take that that’s your major.”

“Yeah,” Derek says easily, swinging on his chair lightly. “That, and Rhetoric and Composition.” A double degree, what a sucker. Impressive qualification he’s after though.

“Same,” she says morosely, because she’s a sucker too. “I’m doing Fine Arts and Art Studies.”

“Oh really?” He says interested, his eyes flicking to the screen next. “You getting your compulsory classes out of the way? What do you specialise in?”

Larissa lifts her Photoshop for Dummies book from her bag to get a laugh from him. “And painting.”

He points a finger judiciously at her ratty sneakers. “I see the paint. This’ll be a nice change, graphic design isn’t anywhere near as messy so there’s way less dirty laundry.”

“This,” Larissa says waving viciously at the laptop, “is neither nice nor clean.”

Derek’s brows furrow even as his mouth quirks up. “You’re not getting it?”

Larissa drags her finger demonstratively under the word: 'dummies'.

Derek tips his head back and laughs again. Larissa is potentially enjoying making this boy laugh a little too much, but who cares really? He’s sweet. She had her fun with Chris the other day, why not this one too?

Derek takes no time proving that he is incredibly sweet. “I doubt that,” he says, “I can give you a hand if you want?”

Larissa takes a second, hearing the words she said to the just as sweet Chris the other day, before nodding. Good fucking thing she’d zoned out while staring at Derek after all. That could’ve become awkward as all hell if he weren’t so laidback.

Derek slides the chair out from between them and tucks himself close to her side. Larissa’s almost glad she’s shit at Photoshop because there’s no need to come up with excuses for him to stay longer. “You can leave your work for this?” she asks, just to be sure. She might need a distraction, but that doesn’t mean he does.

He smiles cheekily at her. “I’m not struggling with mine.”

Larissa suppresses her smile the best she can but if he catches it, well, she’s okay with that too.

Derek spends half an hour patiently explaining Photoshop to her in a way she can understand. They seem to fly through the exercises and the relief she feels when she realises they’re done is indescribable.

“Motherfucker,” she swears, leaning back in her seat and stretching her arms above her head. “Thank you, Derek.”

“No worries,” he says. He gives her shoulder a squeeze as he stands. “You’ll get the hang of this soon enough.”

Larissa makes a doubtful noise and he huffs a laugh in response. She makes no move to get back into it, watching him collect his stuff up instead. He pauses in the doorway and adjusts his snapback, curls sliding across his forehead. “I’ll see you around, Larissa.”

She doesn’t reply, but she does immediately friend him on facebook. She hears him laughing loudly down the hallway and his acceptance comes through seconds later. Shitty will be delighted, she sure is.

 

* * *

 

Derek knew damn fucking well the moment he picked up this sculpture he was going to struggle getting it back across the dorm. What he didn't know was that some of the theatre kids had decided to throw an impromptu improv game on campus. They’re all soaked through, clearly having been out here while it was raining. He can’t help grinning slightly at the sight of them. Oh to have your stress levels peak to the point you no longer care.

He’s not there himself yet, so Derek staggers and almost drops the sculpture half a dozen times before shoving it onto a bench with a butt shaped dry spot.

The thing’s a modern piece, all bright acrylic colours and amorphous shapes. It's the kind of sculpture you see supersized outside of successful companies in comedies and lifetime movies, like the fact that it's inexplicable to the layman's uninterested eye will make the “hip” kids interested. To be honest, Derek’s kind of after the same reaction for this one. He’s doing a work placement for his Graphic Design course and they want brochures? He already tried explaining that brochures have an incredibly limited target audience, but he’s the one living in the comedy and they’re the successful company sooo.

So he’s found the least original sculpture he can to stick in the brochure to meet their ““modern”” design check-mark. It hadn’t even been hard, the art halls were littered with work people had half finished and abandoned and were all too happy to get the fuck out of their sight for a bit of cash.

No one had been as interested in helping him carry it back to his dorm for his photoshoot unfortunately. A handful of theatre kids loop by him again, all yelling unintelligibly, and his shoulders tense. He really doesn't need this added stress right now. He has  _a lot_ of work to do and he can barely keep a grip on this humongous thing. The real stressor here is the constant explaining Derek has to do about every step he has planned, nevermind that they okayed it in the beginning, he’s getting multiple email chains a day and upwards of four calls a week over this. He’s no doubt got correspondence waiting for him and he’s getting sick of talking to people.

Derek hefts his arms awkwardly around the misshapen sculpture once more and totters towards his dorm. He doesn’t need to be whining right now, he’s almost home. There’s no one fucking around too close to the front doors, so Derek is momentarily relieved. That is until he realises he has to get the solid oak-looking door open and the ground is soaked from the rain shower half an hour before.

He’s looking at having to wait for someone to open the door for him, anxiously talking to the flighty theatre kids, or actually putting this on the wet ground and risk damaging the piece.

Derek hums and hars a while before picking an alternate option. He’s too impatient to wait for someone to come rescue him and he doesn’t want to risk flaring up his social anxiety by talking to a pack of boisterous _drama_ students. He props the base of the sculpture on his foot—which is easy enough, the sculpture doesn’t thicken until about halfway up—and attempts to lean the bulk of the sculpture against his thigh and stomach, with only one hand to balance it and only one foot to balance on. There’s a lot of fumbling around, the sculpture threatening to fall and the heavy door threatening to knock him over, and not a lot of success. Derek takes a moment to scrub his hands over his face. His arms are aching to all hell. He’s not skinny by any means, but this sculpture is a tad too wide around the middle and he’s been carrying it across campus for the last fifteen minutes—he’s kinda puffed and there's no end in sight right now. Derek presses his palms against his eyes and breathes deeply. There’s no rush on this. He might _feel_ the urgency to get this upstairs and to get to work but there’s no time limit on how long this takes him today. He's got the time.

Derek slowly shuffles his way through the front door. It takes a damn long time and honestly where the fuck is everyone because he’s pretty unsuccessful. He gets it wedged open barely a foot when he hears someone approaching.

Its from the crack he’s made in the wobbling doorway. “Don’t touch the door!” he shouts too late. His support vanishes and Derek tumbles into the dormitory the sculpture following with a crushing _thud_ on top of him. It shoves the breath out of him and Derek lets the rest out on the ghost of a laugh. “That’s not how I planned it to go _down_ but hey, I made it inside,” he says to his new friend.

Standing above him the student is clearly alarmed, his hands out like he was going to help Derek but paused mid-motion.

“I’m sorry?” he says and Derek isn’t sure if he’s apologising or if he wants Derek to repeat what he just said.

Derek’s too emotionally tired to care. “#win,” he says and goes about rescuing the sculpture. There’s not a scratch on it thankfully. The same can't be said about his bruised elbows, but then Derek’s a clumsy mofo so that's the status quo he keeps.

The guy immediately starts helping Derek stand, his hands brushing dirt off of him. “I’m so sorry. I mean that wasn't the smartest choice, so the set up was bad and guaranteed to fail but still—I’m sorry I made it worse.”

Derek laughs then cuts himself off. This guy? Just lifted his sculpture into his arms effortlessly?? And they are some of the _nicest_ arms Derek’s seen in awhile.

“Here,” the guy says, “Let me give you a hand. It's the least I can do.”

It seems karma’s come calling. Derek helps curious Larissa, Derek gets a saviour of his own. A very attractive one who he’s pretty sure lives in his building.

“Okay,” Derek says cheerily. Then realises that was probably a bit strong. “Ah, wait. You said it: I had that coming, don't worry about it.”

The guy shakes his head, his brow furrowed. “No really,” he says, “Let me help. It’ll be easier to get up the stairs with two people.”

“Well,” Derek says, taken aback but how earnest this guy is. “If it's easier with two then we best both be carrying it, hey?”

The guy seems to relax at that, his body language shifting until he has an open and pleased expression. What a _smile_. It's no wonder the rains gone away when this Cali boy is out and shining.

Derek gets his hands on the top and they tip it on its side. The sculpture is immensely easier to carry this way.

“Thanks man,” Derek says, “You’re a lifesaver and I’m Derek, by the way.”

“Chris,” he says easily in response. “I’ve seen you around, what floor are you on?” He nods to the elevator as he asks. Derek really hopes that's not the only reason he’s asking.

They rest the sculpture down and Derek holds his hand out in front of the elevator buttons like he’s presenting them before pressing his number.

Chris laughs at his performance, his eyes tipping to the ceiling but he’s charmed, Derek knows his stuff. A few more cute moves like that and Derek can say ‘hey, hey, Caaali _boy_ , wanna take a walk in the sun together?’ Or something way less cheesy and more tangible but his _point_ still stands.

They get the sculpture upstairs and into his dorm ridiculously easily from there. Derek has the sculpture neatly in front of his makeshift green screen in moments and can hardly believe it went so smoothly. He spent twenty-five minutes struggling across campus with this thing? Nahh, the trek was easy as.

Derek leans back against his desk and takes in Chris taking in his room. Chris looks comfortable enough, which Derek can’t _fathom_. If he wasn't feeling so relieved about getting the sculpture finally into place, Derek would be going out of his mind figuring out what to say.

Luckily he’s calm enough right now to know to keep it simple. “Thanks, Chris,” he says, “I couldn't have done it without you.”

Chris laughs pretty meanly, his face amused. “Oh you could have, there just would have been a few casualties along the way.”

Derek lets out a surprised laugh. “Is that how it is, is it? Best remember then how I spared you from injury in the doorway. If I hadn't shouted a warning then that door would’ve hit you and, well, you’d probably be dead now.” He heaves a sigh at the end of it, his palms up in the air. What a tragedy that would have been.

Chris rolls his eyes, fighting that brilliant smile for some awful reason. “Yeah okay, _you’re_ the hero.”

Derek clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “It's not a competition, Chris.”

Chris lets out a pleased laugh. He pauses then, an idea clearly hitting him. He looks at Derek through his thick sweeping lashes and Derek holds tighter onto the desk so he doesn’t fucking _swoon_. “I’m on the floor below. A couple rooms down from mine is having a party tomorrow night. Not an actual party y’know, an Art School party.”

Derek grins, his pulse racing. “The study group with rationed wine coolers kind of party?” Like art students have _any_ time to slack off.

“Yeah, that's the one,” Chris says, relieved. And then more shyly: “Do you want to come?”

Derek has to bite his lip. Now _he's_ charmed. “Yeah,” Derek says, sounding equally shy now. “I’ll come.”

“Cool, cool cool cool,” Chris says, backing for the door. “I have class—”

“You have a class and you stopped to help and ask me out?! Chris!” Derek says, one part urgently and two parts amused. What a way to maximise your time.

Chris shrugs as he opens the door, a sly grin on his face. “I knocked you on your ass and then it kind of felt like you knocked me on my ass when you smiled soo.”

Derek’s stomach jumps at that. “Oh,” he says as evenly as he can. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Yeah?” Chris says, a pleased flush on his face.

“Yeah,” Derek says, grinning foolishly, “you should go to class.”

“Right,” Chris agrees, glancing down the hallway and back, “Tomorrow night.” He rattles off the time and place and then, with a quick wave, he pulls the door closed.

Derek sinks back onto his desk until his head bangs against the wall. It's been a stressful as fuck week, but he’s met two very beautiful people and both have given him a way to contact them. They’re interested and Derek is _so very_ interested to see where this will go.

 

* * *

 

7:45PM:

>>> **!!!!! Cait he’s here !!!!!  
** >>> **he actually came!!!  
** >>> **asdfghjkl i changed my mind, he’s coming over**

<<< lol

>>> **_Caitlin_ **

<<< _talk to him_

 

* * *

 

8:08PM:

>>> **oh my gosh he’s so so much fun!  
** >>> **everyone’s just working on their projects like normal but we're kinda off to** **one side?? our knees are touching :OO he’s doing graphic design AND** **rhetoric and composition he’s so smart  
** >>> **anyway we’re on our laptops side by side and it's so cozy here?? like obvs** **the wine’s helping but still haha  
** >>> **he’s been telling me about the assignment i helped him carry that ugly ass** **sculpture for and it sounds like shit but the work he’s doing is so!! Good!!** **his designs are so creative**

<<< that sounds lovely sweetheart! are you hyping yourself up too??

>>> **!! this isn't a date  
** >>> **well shit it might be i did ask him out  
** >>> **shit u right, either way it's full steam ahead from here**

<<< knock his socks off! xx

>>> **xxxx**

 

* * *

 

8:35PM:

>>> **_CAIITTT  
_ ** >>> **LARISSA IS HERE**

<<< w  
<<< w  
<<< i’m sorry, whaT

>>> **Larissa, my bloody hero, is also at this party**

<<< holy shit

>>> **Derek KNOWS HER**

<<< hOLY SHIT

>>> **SHE’S** **_COMING OVER_ **

<<< HOELY SHI T

>>> **you serious?? should i be the hoe i want to be??**

<<< ofc???

>>> **aw babe! xx**

 

* * *

 

8:59PM:

>>> **okay okay okay lol so turns out we all like just met this week and saved one** **anothers ass’s? apparently Larissa was struggling with her Photoshop** **course and Derek was nearby and offered to help her thru**

<<< you're all the hero!

>>> **haha yeah shit we are aren’t we**

<<< that's _cute_ Christopher

>>> **oh my gosh Cait they’re so cute**

<<< well go enjoy your double date

>>> **asdfghjkl  no hel p mee**

 

* * *

 

9:17PM: 

>>> **CAITT**

<<< CHRIS DEETS

>>> **this is just so nice?? we’re all getting along so well and Larissa is the most** **beautiful artist and she has photos on her phone of what she painted with** **that iNSPIRATION SHE SAYS I GAVE HER and it's beautiful?? i can't put** **it into words rn but i will i swear**

<<< u better

>>> **also Cait i think this is a date**

<<< yeah baby?

>>> **yeah xx  
** >>> **there's a lot of flirting going on  
** >>> **they’ve had me blushing all night  
** >>> **but shiT so have Larissa and Derek and its Good, like Real Good**

<<< oh my god stop talking to me and date them

>>> **ahhhhhhHHH**

 

* * *

 

10:27PM:

>>> **lol Larissa explained earlier about my bloody print she took and Derek was** **all like ‘man that super reminds me of something’ and he just** **remembered  
** >>> **look at this shit:**<http://www.wired.co.uk/article/blood-selfie-machine>[  
](http://www.wired.co.uk/article/blood-selfie-machine)>>> **“The issue with blood, or any other liquid for that matter, is that it tends to** **pool on paper.” and yet i had no issue with that despite - in spite** **perhaps?? - of it being on accident**  

<<< you said it ruined your work lol, you cried about it

>>> **and someone still fell in love with it, i’m the expert blood artist now**

<<< lol put that on your resume

>>> **gross no one would hire that**

<<< the game devs might still lol

>>> **true lol  
** >>> **oh man we’ve been talking a bit about games we like and i’ve been talking** **about games i’d like to make some day and they’re talking about stuff they** **want to design someday and there’s just this fantastic atmosphere like??  
** >>> **we’re gonna be creating long into the night and i’m so in love with that**

<<< sweetheart!! :’)))

 

* * *

 

1:39PM:

>>> **i’m p sure you're in bed now you beautiful girl <3 <3 <3 it's really late but i ** **have to tell you** **_now_ ** **i’ve got to get it out of my system or i’ll never sleep** **haha  
** >>> **the whole night was just sooo nice ykno  
** >>> **like super chill and laid back and we could all work in peace and it wasn't** **awkward when it was quiet and we got loads done but also i got to know** **them loads and?? i really want to get to know them some more  
** >>> **and Cait** _**i can**  
_ >>> **it was definitely a date, Derek so helpfully pointed out that i asked him out** **so like that’s pretty explicit lol and i called Larissa my muse!! ahhhhHH** **WHERE’D ALL THAT COURAGE COME FROM AND HOW DO I TAP INTO** **IT ALWAYS???  
** >>> **i just, have no idea how to date two people at once?? two people who don't** **know each other?? plus you too of course  
** >>> **but i really want to  
** >>> **and i think they do too Cait  
** >>> **Derek kissed me on the cheek when we were leaving so i did it back to him** **bc lbr i’d been waiting all night to kiss one or both of them!! and then we** **saw Larissa watching us with like a** **_super_ ** **smug expression so we both kissed her cheeks too!!  
** >>> **ngl we’re pretty cute together :D  
** >>> **haha Cait i don’t think i’m going to be able to sleep even after telling you  
** >>> **oh shit i have an idea**

 

* * *

 

7:25AM:

<<< babe that's all fantastic and i want you to call me later to tell me about it in great detail but please tell me you didn’t stay up all night working

>>> **Caitlin my gorgeous girl i absolutely did and you should see how the power** **a duel crush can fuel into my art  
** >>> **can we call now actually? i can show you?**

<<< aw of course i’m so happy for you

>>> **!!!!!!! can you believe my crushes like me??  
** **> >> lol actually i can, what's not to like**

<<< xxxx

**Author's Note:**

> i stumbled across some art school prompts by tofixtheshadows on tumblr and made use of them for my Chowder/Lardo/Nursey square in my Rarepair Bingo card - 10/10 would recommend checking them out: https://omgcprarepairs.tumblr.com/rarepair-bingo if you're interested in playing, its a lot of fucking fun
> 
> am also considering doing a second, more nsfw chapter after this - i would need some arty prompts tho where these lot end up modeling naked or the like, you kno how it is ;))) so hmu if you have an idea


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